America's Best Sandwiches

Lobster rolls, BLTs, banh mi: the best sandwich shops do the classics right or find unexpected ways to improve them.

Saigon Sandwich, San Francisco: Roasted Pork Banh Mi

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In a rough-and-tumble area of the Tenderloin known as Little Saigon, Saigon Sandwich has been turning out the city’s best made-to-order banh mi since 1981. The only sign of the times: Vietnamese barbecued pork, pickled carrots and onions, and jalapeño and cilantro on a crusty French baguette now costs $3.75 instead of $3.25. Shop the grocery selection for sriracha sauce or ginger candies while you wait.

America's Best Sandwiches

Saigon Sandwich, San Francisco: Roasted Pork Banh Mi

In a rough-and-tumble area of the Tenderloin known as Little Saigon, Saigon Sandwich has been turning out the city’s best made-to-order banh mi since 1981. The only sign of the times: Vietnamese barbecued pork, pickled carrots and onions, and jalapeño and cilantro on a crusty French baguette now costs $3.75 instead of $3.25. Shop the grocery selection for sriracha sauce or ginger candies while you wait.

Daren Le Photography / DarenLe.com

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By
Geraldine Campbell

At its essence, a sandwich is two pieces of bread with something in the middle. It’s a convenient, made-to-carry meal—and can also inspire cultlike devotion.

Consider the Big Nasty, a breakfast of champions that lures diners into Atlanta’s Rosebud for fried chicken, scrambled eggs, bacon, and Tillamook cheddar barely contained within a buttery hamburger bun.

Some memorable sandwiches win us over by breaking the rules. The lobster roll at L.A.’s Hinoki and the Bird arrives in a jet-black bun made from charcoal-enriched flour and flavored with Vietnamese green curry and garlic aioli to punch up the mayonnaise dressing. Others take a reverential approach. At Brooklyn’s Mile End, the Ruth Wilensky (salami and brown mustard on a pressed onion roll) pays tribute to the matriarch of a Montreal sandwich institution.

You can opt for good-for-you ingredients like marinated kohlrabi and butternut squash or indulge in a gut-busting cholesterol bomb. The latter? Well, then let us point you to the off-the-menu Luther sandwich at D.C.’s Churchkey: a chicken jus–glazed brioche donut piled with buttermilk fried chicken and applewood-smoked bacon.

We won’t judge; our favorite sandwiches come from all walks of life. They defy cultural boundaries, blur ethnic lines, and run the gamut from traditional to molecular. But they all leave customers satisfied.